


The Last Star Catcher: A Naboo Faerie Tale

by glorious_clio



Series: Star Wars is a Faerie Tale [5]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: As sisters, Sola and Padme get along as well as any pair, but Padme always listens when Sola tells stories.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Last Star Catcher playlist](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/240355) by glorious clio. 
  * Inspired by [Instructions](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/178765) by Neil Gaiman. 
  * Inspired by [The Last Star Catcher | playmoss](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/252121) by glorious clio. 



> Shout out again to lalalalalawhy for beta skills and brainstorming. All mistakes are my own!

_ _

_Once upon a time, when the universe was new and the stars shone like pearls in the sky, there were star catchers. In those days, the stars were so beautiful, so valuable, that beings desired them for themselves. And so the star catchers, a small number of beings who were fearless and brave, collected stardust and brought it home to their planets to sell or trade and wear like jewels._

_They were revered for their daring and cunning, all envied their beautiful star catching suits of iron which covered their bodies completely and reflected light like moons._

_Strida was one such star catcher. She was accompanied by her six older sisters. They all looked identical when they were wearing their suits and flitting through nursery nebulas, collecting treasures to bring home to the green and blue planet that they loved._

_There were so many stars back then, and they hung around the planet like a veil or a shroud of diamonds. The night skies were as bright as the days._

 

 

 

Padmé Naberrie shivered a bit and cuddled closer to her sister. Sola was eleven, six years older than Padmé, and she seemed to know _everything_. And now, Sola was passing her favorite faerie tale in the whole world to Padmé for keeps.  

Sola didn’t usually play with Padmé if she could get away with her friends her own age. Six years is a big difference, and even though Padmé possessed a shocking intelligence and maturity for one so small, Sola still liked distance from Padmé, now and then. For her part, Padmé would follow Sola anywhere, if given half the chance.  

The story was dreamy and perfect for bedtime, but one thing tickled at her.

“Stars aren’t pearls,” Padmé interrupted. “They’re burning balls of gas, you can’t _catch_ them.”

Sola sighed. “Of course you can’t, Padmé. But this story is ancient, from before interplanetary travel, or the Galactic Senate, or civilization, even.”

“I wouldn’t have liked to live back then. We wouldn’t know Uncle Ona!” The Senator from Rodia was a frequent guest at their home, and Padmé adored him.

“True enough, Padmé. This is just a story. Of course it isn’t real. But remember, even stories that aren’t real can contain the truth. At least, that’s what mama says.”

 

 

 

_The seven sisters sang as they worked, the stars seemed to like it. Their stars would shine brighter the sweeter the sisters sang, and soon everyone knew that the seven star catchers had the prettiest stars in the market._

_Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall)._  
_Ride the silver fish (you will not drown)._  
_Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur)._

_They sang in unison, and their voices seemed to echo through the vast reaches of space. The stars glimmered, they glistened, and the customers were always happy. They had too many customers and not enough stars. As the years went along, stars were becoming more scarce, the sisters had to travel farther and farther to find them. Eventually, it seemed that the seven were the last star catchers in all the galaxy._

_After a time, her sisters retired, one by one. They wanted to stay on their planet, to live soft lives with small comforts in cozy homes. Some former star catchers liked to flaunt their wealth, but the sisters had simple wants._

_Strida had the simplest want of all: the only thing she desired was to continue to sing to the stars and to share their beauty. She missed her sisters and their voices, but she couldn’t seem to settle comfortably into the cozy, planet-bound lives they had taken such care into building. Even the sister that lived on a houseboat still used her anchor too much for Strida’s liking._

_Sometimes she went to the stars, though they were harder to collect now. Her customers became impatient, annoyed, and went instead to hang flashing gems around their limbs, dug by miners out of the heart of the planet. She went home to her sisters, moving from oldest to youngest and back through the rotation again, never staying long. She left trails of stardust wherever she went._

_Her sisters loved her, but after seven years of this, they sent the woman to their grandmother.  Strida went happily to her, and the grandmother (a bent crone with flashing eyes and a reputation for being a witch), was happy to pass her songs along._

_‘Grandmother, why did you seek the stars?’ For the grandmother had a reputation for being the best star catcher on their planet when she was young._

_‘For the same reasons you did, my love,’ and she would pinch Strida’s cheek, though she was too old for it. ‘I loved the adventure of it, and I loved to sing to the stars, like I taught you and your sisters. But there were many more stars back then, and now I fear that there are no stars left to catch.’_

_‘There are a few,” Strida said. “But they are far away.’_

_Her grandmother sat down in front of her and passed the young woman a cup of tea. They drank slowly, watching the steam rise straight up._

_‘There are stars that should never be harvested. I taught you to weed the galaxy of its plenties, the same way I weed my garden of those plants that would choke the life out of the herbs and the vegetables. The best and the brightest have planets and life for themselves and must be left alone.’_

_‘I know, Grandmother. We have always been careful.’_

_‘Indeed you have, my child. But there is one other star that must never be taken, and must always be protected.’_

_‘Oh?’ Strida was interested now. This was new._

_The grandmother stood up and began singing, a new song, though to the old tunes. She appeared to ignore Strida as she gathered up their tea things and brought them into the kitchen._

_Remember your name._  
_Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found._  
_Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped  to help you in their turn._  
_Trust dreams._  
_Trust your heart, and trust your story._

_‘Grandmother?’ Strida followed the old woman, picking up a tea towel to dry the dishes she washed._

_As they washed the tea things, Strida’s grandmother spoke low and slowly. There is one star, the Heart Star, that must be protected. She is the oldest star in the galaxy, and she must always have guardians. It would be a good thing if the last star catcher became a star protector, but you shall be so alone, so quiet. It will require all of your courage.”_

_‘I am brave, grandmother. I will go to the Heart Star, I will protect her, and I will sing all the songs I know so she will shine all the brighter.’_

 

 

 

 

Padmé was staring out the window, kicking her heels against the rungs of the stool she was sitting on. Her homework was spread out before her, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. It was very unlike her.  

“Is something amiss, Padmé?” her mother asked, setting her own datapad aside, her designs for next season at her family’s fashion house momentarily forgotten. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Padmé said, picking up her stylus again. She scribbled something and then asked, “Mother?”

“Yes, Padmé?”

“How do you join the Galactic Senate?”

“Is this about Uncle Ona?” Jobal Naberrie clarified. The visiting Senator Onaconda Farr from Rodia had been bemoaning how the senatorial bureaucrats had bound up proceedings again.  

Padmé nodded. “I want to help everyone! The beings of Rodia, of Naboo, of... of the whole Galaxy!”

“A life of politics is a life of service, Padmé. It can be very hard.”

“Is it too hard?” Padmé pouted.  

“For some,” Jobal said carefully. “It requires a great deal of intelligence, focus, balance. But if it is something you are interested in, we can inquire about youth government experiences.”

Padmé’s eyes brightened with a fire Jobal had never seen before.  

 

 

 

 

_Strida’s few belongings had scattered between the homes of her six sisters. At each sister’s home, there were tearful farewells, and every one gave her a gift to take with her to the Heart Star. Her Eldest sister gave her a small velvet pouch the color of a deep red wine. Her second sister gave her an ever-full canteen. Her third sister gave her a little silver dagger. Her fourth sister gave her a feather from the air. Her fifth sister gave her a simple stone from her farm. And her sixth sister gave her a shell from the sea where she made her home._

_And her dear little grandmother with the flashing eyes gave Strida her songs and her beautiful, enchanted cloak._

_‘This cloak is the color of darkness, and will keep you dry and warm, even when the elements conspire against you.’_

_‘Grandmother, I cannot take this from you.’_

_‘It will protect you, my child. Such powerful magic flows through this cloak, magic passed down from many more grandmothers than I can list for you.” She seemed heavier without the cloak, and Strida worried, even if her grandmother seemed determined._

_Obediently, Strida drew her grandmother’s cloak more tightly around her throat and went to her little rocket. She used to share it with her sisters, with its tiny cabins and storage holds, sailing through the skies. It was long and straight and true, and the only home Strida had ever really known. Her star charts were at the ready, her iron suit waited, and all her gifts were arranged neatly in the eldest sister’s pouch. Strida launched herself into the stars._

_It is a hard thing, to find a Heart Star._

_Strida laid out all of her star charts so the known universe was at her fingertips. But the paper folded and curled and some of the charts were notoriously untrustworthy. So Strida pointed her rocket at the center of what she knew of the Galaxy._

_She traveled past stars of every size and color, the hot hot blues and whites, the yellows and oranges and reds. There were dwarfs and giants and neutrons, and once even a pair of binary stars that orbited each other in a measured dance. She followed her instincts and finally, after a year and a day, she found the Heart Star._

_It pulsed brightly, orbited by planets of every color, some with rings, most with moons. Some of the planets were all of fire, some all of ice. But the star itself looked like nothing she had ever seen before. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a white star that radiated warmth, but through its rays, Strida could see an emerald green core. It put her in mind of her own lovely planet, of growing things, of life itself. The color reminded her of the shutters on her grandmother’s house, of the melons her fifth sister grew on her farm. It reminded her of the color of the sea in certain lights from her sixth sister’s houseboat._

_Surely this color green was the color of home, and home was where the heart was._

_Strida locked onto the gravitational pull and orbited the beautiful star, watching it from her little windows. It seemed to change every minute, the white and green light flickered through her windows and danced on her walls. She was entranced at what the light was doing to her lovely home._

_This impossibly beautiful star could never be caught, could never be worn around the neck of someone, she thought. Not even the wisest queen would be worthy of such a star in her crown._

_And though she had been tasked with its protection by her grandmother, Strida redoubled her oath to keep it safe. She felt so grateful for the privilege, so devoted to its freedom to shine for the whole galaxy.  She observed it and watched it and would have put it in her star chart, but something kept her from putting pen to paper._

_Perhaps one way to keep it protected was to keep from recording it. Strida put her charts away and kept watch. And as she watched, she sang to it. The star shone no brighter for the music, but Strida did not expect it to._

_For how could anyone, least of all her, improve upon perfection?_

 

 

At eight, she was accepted into the Apprentice Legislature after extensive exams, interviews, and letters to recommend her to the Royal Council. Padmé fit in with her peers in the Apprentice Legislators in a way she never had fit with her schoolmates, or even with Sola. It was easy to see Padmé’s passion for service, her gusto when tackling a particularly difficult issue. At their first meeting, she was a little starstruck by Queen Laibhilín and in awe of her handmaidens, but by their second meeting, Padmé was at ease with the trappings of court, and even suggested a solution to a dispute with the Gungans.  

She had a great interest in the Gungans, and dug through the Royal Library, learning their history and culture as best she could. But all the texts seemed to be written by humans, and weren’t especially gracious or sympathetic to the aquatic beings that shared Naboo.  

No one teased Padmé for this, in fact they were all encouraged to learn as much as they could about a facet (or two) of Naboo. Even the Queen relied on niche expertises that her Handmaidens had cultivated. Everyone needed advisors and teachers, especially rulers.  

Padmé had excellent instructors in the Apprentice Legislature, but she also was instructed by Uncle Ona and her father on the galactic senate.

“Remember, Padmé, Naboo is one piece in a large galaxy.”

Her mother advised her on fashion, the meaning of colors, particular respectful drapings, the use of feathers, pearls, and other decorative details called _notions_.

“Even clothes show intention, and first impressions can subconsciously affect a meeting.”

Padmé also had Sola to tell her stories, to draw her out of problems the Apprentice Legislature were expected to research and advise on. Sometimes taking a step back and focusing on something else, a fictional problem she was not expected to solve, helped her come back to her work refreshed and renewed. It was a skill well learned.

 

 

 

_Strida was not the only one who had pledged herself to the Heart Star._

_She had fallen asleep with the star’s white and green light shining on her pillow, and she dreamed of softness and peace and goodness. In her dream, she heard singing, but when she woke, she could still hear it._

_Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat_ _nothing._  
_However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,_  
_feed it._  
_If it tells you that it is dirty,_  
_clean it._  
_If it cries to you that it hurts,_  
_if you can,_  
_ease its pain._

_The star shone no more or less brightly in the windows of her rocket. Strida went to one and looked out, but she could see nothing but the star. Carefully, she pulled on her iron suit. The singing carried on, repeating the refrain. Finally, Strida went out of her rocket into the stars rays and looked all around her for the source of the singing._

_Before she had gone to bed, Strida and thought she had seen all there was to see in the galaxy. But this morning offered a new wonder in the source of the singing. It was a Firebird, singing in a low, deep voice, the song she had dreamed of, the song that woken her. She listened hard, trying to learn the refrain, and soon she knew it well enough to sing it back to him._

_The Heart Star flashed brightly, brilliantly, as their voices mingled. Her breath caught in her throat and she could not quite carry the last note, but it did not matter. The Firebird turned. Strida stilled. The gazed at each other for a long moment._

_Then he nodded at her and continued his rotation._

_Over the next few weeks, she saw the Firebird occasionally, and they learned each other’s songs. When they sang, the Heart Star flashed brightly, the rays danced around them. Strida would smile, and he would nod and fly away from her._

_Strida tried not to take it personally, but she hoped to speak to the Firebird properly. She was happy in her quiet protection of the star. But staying required all of her courage. She missed her sisters and her grandmother. Befriending the Firebird would go a long way to comforting her loneliness._

_But the Firebird was fierce looking, and so large. The flames from his plumes whipped around him, tossed by solarwinds. He was beautiful and fearsome and proud. As much as Strida wanted to talk to him, she was also partly grateful he kept his distance.  She knew all too well that beautiful things were often the most dangerous. Monsters did not always look terrifying; the worst ones looked approachable._

_So Strida respected the distance between her and the Firebird, content with the music they made together, and to wave at him from a distance._

 

 

 

From the Apprentice Legislature, Padmé was hand selected to advance to the Legislative Youth Program at only twelve years old. She was the youngest member of this cohort by a good many years, but she was also the most productive. After a few weeks, she was working with Counselors to write legislation. Her mother often took her datapad away from her with the demand to ‘get some sleep, Padmé, for the Goddess’ sake.” But Padmé kept paper and a pencil under her pillow. Primitive tools, but sometimes ideas came to her while she was lying in bed.  

Sola didn’t dare interrupt such important work for fairy tales.  

Jobal and Ruwee worried quietly in their bedroom. Their daughter was a rising political star. There was no doubt her intention was still service, but she had certainly showed more aptitude than they originally suspected.

“At this rate, she’ll be Queen if she wants to be,” Ruwee said gruffly. He was proud of his daughter’s record, but worried it was happening too quickly.

“Don’t borrow trouble, darling,” Jobal said, her own brow creasing. They were both worried that Padmé didn’t have much of a chance to be a child. She seemed to be growing up faster than Sola, who was just now fifteen, had just started flirting with her classmates and was still up for silly adventures with her friends. But Jobal also worried for the elder sister, being in the shadow of the younger.  

They wondered how long this would sustain itself.  

A few weeks later, Padmé began talking incessantly about Palo, what Palo thought, what Palo did, how his hair fell into his eyes and how all his ideas were amazing. He was older, fit, dedicated, but _artistic_. Jobal breathed a sigh of relief. At last, _something_ had slowed her daughter down. She was thinking of things other than government, suddenly taking even more care with her dress and hair.  

But a month or so after that, there were red rings around Padmé’s eyes and a new determination when she set her jaw.

Jobal pumped Sola for information. Padmé had confided in her; Palo had quit the Legislative Youth Program for an apprenticeship with a state artist to pursue his dreams of creating kinetic sculptures.

Jobal and Ruwee worried again.  

 

 

 

_All love stories are the same, and all love stories are different, too. Beings meet and fall in love every day, but it always seems like a miracle when it happens. The same was true for Strida. The love she found was at once typical and atypical, natural and unnatural._

_It happened this way._

_She was sitting on her rocket in her iron suit, quietly singing the the Heart Star. She didn’t see the Firebird, so she sang it the old songs she used to sing with her sisters._

_Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall)._  
_Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).  
_ Ride the grey wolf _(hold tightly to his fur)._

_She missed them all, and often slept with the pouch under her pillow, wrapped in her grandmother’s cloak. It was like being folded in her familial embrace. Singing also made her feel close to them (even if the Heart Star did not flash). Yet Strida was still homesick._

_‘Why are you crying?’_

_Strida did not startle easily, but the shock of a speaking voice caused her to jump._

_‘Who are you?’ Strida asked. He was a being just as she was, but he seemed to not require a suit, like she did. He was smiling sweetly, and he seemed to have a star twinkling in each of his eyes._

_‘I am a protector to the Heart Star,’ he said. ‘Like you are a protector.’_

_“Is the Firebird a protector, too?”_

_“What Firebird?” he asked with a mischievous grin._

_Strida frowned. ‘Do you have a name?’_

_He shrugged. ‘I have been here a long time. A very long time indeed. I had one once, but I don’t remember.’_

_“Then what shall I call you?’_

_He shrugged again. ‘Why should I have a name? I suppose you have one?’_

_She nodded. ‘Yes. My name is Strida.’_

_He flashed a grin at her. ‘Well, since I don’t have a name, I suppose you should name me.’_

_‘Oh, I don’t know if I could. If I named you, it should mean that we are connected.’_

_He cocked his head to the side. ‘But if we are both protectors, are we not caught in the same gravity? We are already connected, Strida.’_

_‘I still cannot name you,’ Strida insisted._

_‘Very well. As I am not interested in names as you, I suppose you can call me the Champion.’_

_They spoke a little longer, before long he left. Sometimes she saw him, sometimes she didn’t, sometimes she sang with the Firebird. And then he would come back, the Champion. She was always glad to see him, as he lifted the loneliness that she felt in this deep space. He told her about the Heart Star, observations and secrets. She told him of her sisters, and was entranced by the gifts they had left her. His favorite was the shell, and he listened to the echoes of her oceans for a long time. Strida could tell that he was very sorry to give it back._

_Once she asked him about the Firebird, and he laughed and said that she needn’t worry about the Firebird._

_‘I don’t worry about him, he never draws near. We sing together, but we never talk. I should like to speak to him, to thank him for his song. It’s a beautiful song.’_

_He gave her an odd look. ‘You were singing the time I introduced myself,’ he said._

_She smiled. ‘The time you nearly frightened me out of my suit.’_

_He laughed at that. ‘You looked pretty silly.’_

_Strida did not join the laughter, but then he took her hand and kissed her cheek, but she was wearing her suit so his lips landed on iron. ‘Sorry,’ he said lightly._

_They held hands through her suit. She tried to lean into the friendship they were building. It wouldn’t do to hold grudges when he was only one of two neighbors.  And anyway, she really liked how stars seemed to dance in his eyes. She wanted to catch them, she wanted stars in her eyes. She wanted... she wanted to not be lonely, even out here near the Heart Star. She had never been in love before. Her sisters weren’t there to ask. But she invited the Champion inside her little rocket._

_She took off her iron suit, shared her supper with him, and taught him to dance as she had done on her planet, what felt like so long ago. He took to it well, and they danced well into the next day._

_The champion made her forget her loneliness. She longed for him when he was gone, and kissed his cheek whenever he returned, and sometimes they danced and sometimes they floated, and sometimes he was in odd moods._

_‘I love you,’ she told him one day._

_He laughed. ‘I suppose I love you too.’_

_That night, though, she dreamed of a bent crone with flashing eyes and a reputation for being a witch who wore the same cloak that she herself wore._

_‘Who are you?’ she asked the old woman._

_The old woman didn’t reply, but she sang:_

_Remember your name._  
_Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found._  
_Trust ghosts._  
_Trust those that you have helped_ _to help you in their turn._  
_Trust dreams._  
Trust your heart, and trust your story.

_She woke up crying. When she saw the champion again a few days later, she asked him ‘What is my name?’_

_He shrugged and laughed. ‘I don’t remember, we’ve both been here so long!’_

_She cried again and he could not comfort her._

 

 

 

Padmé had researched and planned a trip to Shadda-Bi-Boran, joining the Refugee Relief Movement, identified by armbands made of Shadda silk that Jobal donated to the cause. Padmé was eager to go off planet and practice her service elsewhere. And Shadda-Bi-Boran, with its dying sun, was as far away from Naboo (and a girlish, embarrassing crush) as she could find. Besides, there were children to relocate.

The beings were lovely with their green luminous skin, they tried to be welcoming, but clearly the death of their sun was distressing everyone. After all, Shadda the Sun had been revered and worshipped by the Shadda-Bi-Borans. Padmé could not imagine what they were feeling, beyond the utter betrayal at Shadda’s impending implosion. Padmé didn’t say so, but she was glad that the only higher power she trusted in was Democracy, which didn’t have a life cycle like a star did.

Shadda-Bi-Boran looked like a ruined, nightmare version of Naboo, its once beautiful swamps and plains were dry, brown, and brittle. There were dreadful groundquakes, and it was absolutely _freezing_. The atmosphere was already starting to vent into space.

The children, though, were so warm. Some were orphans, some were left with the Movement in the hopes that their parents would reunite with their children offworld, trusting the wealthy, Senate backed Relievers.

One such child was N'a-kee-tula who taught Padmé all his games. There were lots of hand clapping patterns that the children could play while waiting; for a bed, for a meal, for a transport. In spite of all the sadness around them, N’a-kee-tula remained firmly and resolutely upbeat. He had the gift of drawing smiles from crying children. And he followed Padmé around like a shadow.

“I want to serve, like you do, Padmé!” he would say with a sugary smile, all dimples and flashing eyes.  

She began to give him little tasks to perform: make sure there was enough cutlery, make sure the sheets were changed between sleeping shifts, make sure that the older kids were playing fairly with the younger ones.  

“Such a funny name, Padmé. What does it mean?”

“It’s a flower that grows on Naboo, it comes up out of the water and hovers a few centimeters above the surface. They have lots of colors, and some people revere them.”

“They sound like _a’mi-dala_ flowers. Naboo sure sounds beautiful.”

“It is,” Padmé said. “You should come visit me there. What does your name mean?”

“It means ‘sweetheart,’ because my mother had terrible sugar cravings while I was gestating,” N’a-kee-tula said impishly.

Padmé could believe it.  

Upon her return to Naboo, her work on Shadda-Bi-Boran had been recognized by the Queen. Padmé was mandated the role of Princess of Theed, in charge of the entire capital city and its representative at court. It required a new wardrobe, and when making public appearances, she was expected to wear the royal Crimson. It was not Padmé’s favorite color, but it was a reminder that her new role was not about what she wanted. Her mother was right about fashion and about service.  

Padmé was allowed her first glass of bubbling champagne that night at dinner. But she did not celebrate long. As soon as she was done helping Sola with the dishes, she was back at her desk, reading reports and scribbling notes for tomorrow.

She kept in contact after N’a-kee-tula and his family was settled, he called her A’mi-dala to tease her. She didn’t let it show, but their conversations increasingly distressed her, as his lovely complexion paled and sickened. In the end, the refugees all died. They were unable to adapt to life without Shadda, physically or spiritually.

Padmé absented herself from court to stay home and mourn when she heard the news. Sola skipped school to comfort her crying sister. Padmé was devastated and discouraged. For the first time her service didn’t seem to matter.

“That’s ridiculous, Padmé,” said Sola, consolingly. “You still helped them, you helped N’a-kee-tula.”

“But he still _died_!” she said, weeping heavy tears.

Sola bundled her little sister into a hug. Twelve was much too young to deal with this responsibility, mandated princess or not, and at only fifteen Sola wasn’t quite sure what to say to her hurting sister.

“Padmé, listen to me. You tried, you comforted him. Even as N’a-kee-tula’s family was dying, even as he got sicker and sicker, you were still able to make him smile. That’s not _nothing_.”

Padmé was sniffling, but she was listening to her big sister.

“Surely you wouldn’t have left him, for his sun to implode. Your kindness and devotion still made a difference.”

It was the hardest lesson Padmé had learned so far, that even if you tried, you couldn’t save everyone. But you still had to try.

 

 

 

_She worried over her name, feared it lost. The champion was no help, and when she worried about it, he laughed. The laugh that she had fallen in love with was now a cruel sound that hurt her. They fought._

_He sulked, visited less, and she was lonely. She was lonely all the time, even when the Champion returned to her little rocket. She toyed with her gifts (she knew they were gifts), the pouch that contained the canteen, the silver dagger, a feather, a stone. She held up the shell and listened for her name._

_‘Do you know anything about yourself?’ she asked him once._

_He gave her that strange look again, and she knew he was hiding something._

_‘What is it? Tell me.’_

_He sighed. ‘I am not a man, not like you are a woman.’_

_‘What does that mean?’_

_He sat down heavily at her table. She had made tea and the steam went straight up. She gathered her cloak around her and sat across from him. She took the champion’s hands and waited._

_‘I am also that Firebird that has so captured your imagination.’_

_She smiled. ‘I love the Firebird,’ she told him._

_‘He is the darkness in me, he is dangerous.’_

_‘But he sings so beautifully,’ she said._

_He shrugged and slipped his hands from hers. She was not so sure there was not darkness in his human form, either._

_‘It’s a curse,’ he elaborated. ‘Given to me by the queen of the faeries.’_

_‘What will break it?’_

_‘I don’t know.’_

_‘Then you must find out,’ she insisted._

_When he left that day, she never saw the Champion again. But he left traces on her heart. A few days later, there was a tentative knock on the hatch to her rocket. She looked through the little window to see the Firebird with his brilliant plumage._

_‘Oh!’ she said, opening the hatch with a smile. ‘Welcome.’_

_He did not smile back, but she could feel the warmth coming from his feathers. ‘I cannot enter,’ he said mournfully. ‘I have come to tell you that I am going away, to protect you from the one you call the Champion.’_

_‘What do you mean?’_

_‘He is not worthy of your love, he means well, but in practice, he only causes harm. We are the same being, and while we do not intend to hurt people, we always do.’_

_‘I don’t understand,’ she said, her heart breaking, shattering in her chest like crushed stardust._

_He appeared not to notice, and instead offered her a large egg. Its shell was green and warm. She took it gently._

_‘There should always be two guardians,’ he said. ‘When that egg hatches, you will be free to leave this place.’_

_‘And the curse?’ she asked._

_The firebird blinked. ‘What curse?’_

_‘Oh, I see. The champion lied to me.’_

_‘He does not always know he is lying. Sometimes he tells himself many things that he believes are true.’_

_She waited in silence, cupping the egg very gently. She slid it into the pouch that was a gift. She thought she should make a gift for the Firebird. He watched curiously as she tried to decide. The canteen? The stone? The dagger? And then the answer was obvious. She handed him the feather._

_‘Thank you,’ he said, taking it gracefully._

_‘I have one more question,’ she asked. ‘Do you remember my name? How I came to be here?_

_He shook his head. ‘I am afraid not. I know it is troubling you. I hope you remember it.’_

_He wished her well and left, and she was truly alone. The Heart Star looked dull and dim. She held the shell to her ear and cried, the sound of waves went with the salt water that spilled from her eyes._

_In time the egg hatched and two fledgling firebirds emerged, a boy and a girl. She named one Sun and the other Moon. They called her Mother, and she loved them, but she was still lonely. She taught them the songs she knew, the song she learned from the Firebird.  Her loneliness healed, but like scar tissue, it still could be seen. The young firebirds did not comment on it._

_When they sang together, the Heart Star beamed so brightly that she often had to close her eyes._

_They grew quickly, the firebird twins, and they seemed to never forget their names. She wouldn’t let them. Names were just as important as songs, she taught them. And she told them all she knew of the stars and the galaxy. They never wondered at her name, thinking it was Mother. It was a name enough for now, but at night, she drew her cloak around her and lined up all the gifts but the feather, trying to remember._

_So a year and a day passed.  And at the end of that year and a day, the twin firebirds were fully grown. She called them back to the rocket and told them that Mother was not her name, and that she was going out into the galaxy to find her real name again._

_‘Will you stay and guard the Heart Star?’ she asked Sun and Moon._

_‘We swear we will, we will sing to her and protect her, and we will remember our names.’_

_She offered them each a gift. Sun picked the little stone, Moon picked the silver dagger and they flew from their roost in the rocket and circled the Heart Star.  And the woman that had been known as ‘Mother’ wrapped her cloak around her and gathered her star charts._

 

 

 

She was not the youngest Queen ever elected, neither was she inexperienced or naïve. But this was the first real test she would face as the Ruler of the Naboo. It was happening so fast, the loss of communication, the coming invasion. Padmé had been hoping resolve the dispute today, with the help of the Jedi. But the Trade Federation wanted to escalate to violence.

Sabé called her away from the window. They were not without options. And even if she failed, she had to try.

In silence, Sabé and Padmé stripped off their clothes. Moteé led Sabé away and began applying the Royal makeup, the calm pale face, the red cheek marks for power and balance, the scar of remembrance on her lower lip (for suffering of the past, and the suffering to come no doubt). Yané was arranging the decoy queen’s hair. Padmé washed her own face clean again and Saché helped her with finishing touches.

They said nothing, working in silence. They would not betray each other, Sabé would flawlessly act the part of Queen Amidala. All of them could, but Sabé so resembled Padmé that even the other handmaidens had difficulty telling them apart.

There were final preparations to be made. Naboo was a peaceful planet, but that did not mean the handmaidens were unable to protect themselves and their queen. Quietly, they gathered hairpins that doubled as throwing knives, garotte wire disguised in necklaces, stiletto daggers hidden inside the toes of their delicate looking boots, earrings that contained flash bombs.

Padmé knew the element of surprise was on their side. Naboo had a very small standing military. The Trade Federation wasn’t so strong as to pick on a heavily militarized world; hers was supposed to serve as an example, a test of power. She would test their limits, for certain. They all would. Or die trying. Padmé tried not to worry for her parents, for Sola, hoped they wouldn’t worry for her.

Padmé fell in line beside her fellow handmaidens, her sisters in duty and service, and as one they followed Queen Amidala to their shared fate.

 

 

_As she was about to leave, her sisters arrived. She knew them, by their smiles, their tears, and their iron suits. They named her, Strida the Last Star Catcher, sister Strida, and she was pulled back into their fold. Waving a tearful farewell to the twins, Strida returned home._


End file.
